


A Limitless World

by meh_guh



Series: Tony the Polyglot and his Sneaky Sniper Boyfriend [6]
Category: Marvel
Genre: 5 + 1, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/pseuds/meh_guh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 esoteric languages Tony speaks, and one common one no one can believe he doesn't</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Limitless World

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an anonymous prompt: Do you still take prompts for the series Tony the Polyglot? 'Cause I had an idea for a 5+1: 5 Bizarre Languages Tony Stark Knows and 1 Regular Language That Nobody Can Believe He Never Learnt. Like, he knows an obscure dialect of Chinese or African, or the Irish Gaelic that almost no one speaks anymore, but he never learned Latin, or something   
> Title from “The limits of my language are the limits of my world” - Ludwig Wittgenstein

1.  
'NAAAAA-' Clint bellowed, taking the corner at high speed and clipping his shoulder on the doorway. 'ZIVENYAAAA! BABA NICHI-'

'OK, wow,' Tony tackled him into the couch and clapped both hands over Clint's mouth. 'Jarvis? Lock the Lion King out of the play list until Clint can sing the _actual_ words.'

Clint twisted, thrusting his hips at the right angle to pitch Tony into the coffee table and rolled on top of him. 'No. I refuse to believe you speak fucking Swahili.'

Tony left off groaning about his bruises long enough to reply 'Well, for once you're sort of right. I don't _speak_ Kiswahili so much as I can swear in it. And that song's in fucking Zulu you prick.'

Clint squinted down at Tony and sat back on his heels. 'OK, why-' he shook his head. 'Who taught you to swear in _Ki_ swahili?'

Tony's hands settled on Clint's thighs, thumbs circling over the inseam. 'A farmer called Obuya when we were tanked on his home made whiskey. The sergeant was nice enough to let him drag the still into the station in return for a cut-'

Clint closed his hands over Tony's fingers before he could start undoing Clint's pants. 'What were you arrested for, and do we need to avoid parts of Africa?'

'Complete misunderstanding,' Tony grinned, tugging Clint's hands towards his chest. Clint flattened his hands against Tony's pecs and raised his eyebrows. 'I just had to wait while Pepper sorted out the mistake. Obuya kept muttering at me the first day, and I'd picked up a few phrases in college because damn, Nichelle Nichols was smoking-'

Clint burst out laughing. 'You tried to learn Swahili because of Lieutenant Uhura? You are the biggest nerd _ever_!'

Tony heaved, and Clint let him roll them over again, stealing a kiss just before they bounced off the couch.

'So we snarked off at each other in Kiswahili and Macedonian, and long story short, there's a family of farmers in Kenya who swear in Macedonian when their creatively-assembled still blows up,' Tony shoved at Clint's t-shirt until it bunched up under his arms. 'And I got a wonderful collection of sub-Saharan curses to add to my collection.'

'That doesn't explain the Zulu,' Clint gasped, lifting his hips to let Tony shove his pants down.

Tony blinked wide eyes at him. 'You want me to suck you or tell _that_ story?'

'Well,' Clint pushed at Tony's shoulders. 'When you put it like that...'

****

2.  
'So...' Tony dropped onto the couch a safe distance from Natasha and dropped a ratty newspaper into her lap. 'I'm guessing we can't do that Trans-Siberian rail trip after all, since Ulan Bator wants you shot into the Sun.'

Natasha blinked down at the news type, and the irritatingly-clear picture of her face. That mission had been a cock-up beginning to smouldering and bloody end. 'You read Mongolian?'

Tony shrugged, a faint smirk twisting his lips, and Natasha was suddenly certain that the explanation was going to require vodka. She held up a finger, did a quick check of the air vents for Clint, and switched to Macedonian.

'Tony, if this story winds up being about some sort of kidnapping-by-Mongolian-models or whatever lecherous bullshit your life was 1986 through last week, I'm using a friendcard and taking an out.'

Tony's grin spread even wider, and he gave her a wink. 'I suppose you'll remain in the dark, then.'

****  
3\. 

' _Really?_ ' Clint threw his hands up and glared across the table. 'Really, Tony? Why the fuck do you speak Malay Chinese?'

Tony's mouth quirked up at one corner, and he tilted his tea in a toast. 'I spent a month in the Sultan of Brunei's palace back in 1994, and Billy thought it'd be hilarious to ban English among the serving staff.'

Clint picked up a glob of rice and debated launching it into Tony's hair. 'Who's Billy and why could he order the palace staff around?'

Tony laughed, head tipping back to expose his throat and the line of marks Clint had sucked into his skin that morning. 'Prince Al-Muhtadee Billah. Crown Prince of Brunei. I ran into him in some delightfully seedy bar in... Marseilles, I think.'

Clint always thought it was some sort of PR bullshit, the whole Happy-Community-of-Celebrities, but Tony actually does seem to know everyone. At least, everyone worth more than five million bucks.

Tony deftly seized a dumpling, ducked it into some sauce, and shoved it into his mouth. There's a wonderfully distracting shine of grease on his lip, and Clint finds his foot drifting up the inside line of Tony's calf.

Tony's eyes darkened, his knees spreading a little wider. 'I won a month in his famous hedonism room in a game of snooker, and spent four weeks staring at naked models swimming in the glass-bottomed pool in his ceiling.'

'And corrupting the servants?' Clint asked, because he knows Tony.

Tony just grinned and signalled for the bill.

****

4.  
The protester looked about a hundred and ninety. Clint felt kinda bad about pointing his weapon at a guy who looked like he'd been at Little Big Horn, but on the other hand, Nick Fury was dripping some sort of fermented garbage water. He shuffled a few more feet away from the stink and Fury's stinkeye, and watched as the protester wriggled furiously in Iron Man's grip.

'You OK, sir?' Clint asked as the protester shouted something in a language Clint was guessing was Cherokee based on their location and the guy's appearance. 'Want me to call in HAZMAT?'

Fury snorted like a cartoon bull, but before he could open his mouth, Tony had flipped the mask up and turned a fierce glare on the SHIELD agents.

'Are you shitting me with this?' Tony demanded, putting the protester down gently and striding over to shake an armoured finger under Fury's nose. 'You assholes dug out one of your super-secret lunatic bases on tribal land?!'

Clint let his aim drop and turned a disbelieving stare on Fury and his total lack of denial. 'Wow. Yeah, OK. I think I quit.'

He collapsed his bow, steadfastly avoiding looking at Fury, and stepped past Tony to stand in front of the protester.

'The Avengers will do whatever it takes to fix this,' he said, glancing over at Cap's appalled scowl and Bruce's faint green tinge. Natasha had her game face on, but there's no way she knew about this either. 'You want to come into the quinjet and take a load off?'

The protester snorts at him, keeping his eyes on Tony as Tony threatens SHIELD with no tech and no money and going to the press. After a few minutes, the protester’s shoulders lose a little of their tension, though his expression remains miserably angry.

This isn't the sort of situation Clint's used to dealing with, so he gives the guy an awkward shoulder-pat, then retreats into the quinjet to fume. Fury's done some crappy things in the past, but this is unbelievable.

Several hours later, Joey (which is what the protester eventually reveals his name to be) has explained to Thor the US's race-relations history, Clint has had to cling like a monkey to Thor's hammer arm to stop him busting out some good old-fashioned vengeance, and Tony has emerged victorious in his battle against Fury's rampant bastardry.

Clint and Natasha have also both tendered their resignations, but really. They'll still come when called, they both know it.

Tony, hair plastered to his forehead from hours in the suit, took one look at Clint's expression and smiled. 'Mom always had a thing about respecting your hosts. I had a Cherokee nanny, and she set up a foundation to provide assistance to Native American land rights claims.'

He turned to Joey. 'SHIELD will be dismantling the base starting tomorrow morning, and Stark Industries will handle any environmental reclamation necessary gratis. I'm also going to give you my direct line for if there are any problems, along with my sincerest apologies that this violation happened.'

Joey's expression remained blank for a long moment, his dark eyes studying Tony. He nodded, said something which sounded approving to Clint's ear, and stepped out into the late afternoon sun.

'So,' Tony clapped his gauntlets together. 'Who wants to stop off Memphis for ribs on the way home?'

****

5.  
Swedish because models.

('Yeah, yeah,' Clint waved Tony's attempted explanation away as he watched Freja and Astrid slink away arm-in-arm. 'I have _no trouble_ understanding this one.')

****

+1  
Clint blinked. 'You speak _how many_ languages, and this is your kryptonite? Scots English?'

Tony folded his arms and thrust his lip out like a three year old. 'It's not English.'

'OK,' Clint turned in a circle, grinning at the arranged Avengers and relieved locals. 'Hands up anyone else who thinks Scotty McEdinburgh over here is indecipherable? Anyone?'

Hands stayed down in droves. Tony threw a pleading glance at Natasha, but she was smirking too.

'I cannae believe ye cannae ken me meanin',' Clint crowed in his proudly-terrible Scotty impersonation. Scotty McEdinburgh glowered from under huge eyebrows, and Clint winked at him.

'Clint, _no one_ can understand the drivel coming out of your face right now,' Natasha gave him the Eyebrow of Impending Violence. 'And I thought we'd had the conversation about you trying accents back in Omsk?'

Clint couldn't stop the wince; one little _Da tovarisch_ Soviet joke (or, OK, six straight hours of his best-worst Boris and Natasha material), and he'd woken up naked and painted purple inside a nunnery just in time for morning mass. He might still have bruises, six years later. Those Russian nuns packed a harder wallop than the damn Hulk did.

'So, we'll be leaving,' Cap managed at length, sounding ever so slightly eager to get away from the team and go cry into a malted milk about their terrible personalities.

Probably just Tony and Clint's personalities, really. Clint fistbumped himself and slung an arm around his boyfriend.

'Och,' he whispered into Tony's ear as the grateful civilians drifted away from the quinjet. 'Thar can be only one, dinnae ye know.'

'I will sic Natasha on you,' Tony muttered back, armoured fingers goosing Clint hard enough to bruise.

Clint set his teeth in Tony's earlobe and laughed. 'Promises, promises, laddie.'

Even with the sudden nerve strike Natasha delivered, Tony's horrified groan was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a teacher who used to work for the Sultan of Brunei, and the glass-bottomed swimming pool filled with naked models actually is/was a feature of the palace. I can't recall which prince's bedroom it was, so call it poetic licence in this.


End file.
